Chasing Shadows
You saw me just as you were about to unlock your car. You had perched your coffee cup and a paper bag containing a pastry or a donut from Ray’s Diner on the roof, and you looked up, right at me, as I made my way towards you. You’ve changed, of course, over the past few years. Your hair more salt than pepper, the open pores on your face so wide it’s a wonder that yesterday’s stubble doesn’t just fall out. Broken veins punctuate your cheeks and nose. Your lips, dry and cracked with small white pasty deposits at the corners, are pursed. The deep lines that frame your features couple with the yellows of your eyes to give an impression of tiredness, of stress, of unease. That made me smile.
You didn’t expect to see me, did you? After standing completely still for several seconds, you gasped, and if fear had a sound, that’s what you made. I stopped and I looked at you, took in the full view from your thinning hair to your flaccid belly overhanging where presumably you have a belt line, and down to your ancient boots. I remember those boots. I remember they smelled of musk and leather and plastic all at once. Their dark brown skin was smooth and the metal lace hole surrounds gleamed with pride. Now they are dappled with small abrasions, a triangular shaped stain blackens the front of the left, and the laces are stretched and exhausted.